Trapped in a Feud
by Aislinn Rose
Summary: This is a one chapter story I wrote for a picture prompt. The picture was of an abandoned shack set on a prairie. John, Dean, and Sam go to see what's haunting the place and they realize that they have something in common with the spirit.


The breath left his lungs and a sharp burst of pain shot through him when his body roughly connected with the rotted wood plank wall of the old shack. The wall creaked and splintered from the force of the impact and for a second he thought he was going to fly right through it; but, the wall held and he fell into a crumbled heap on the floor.

He lay on the floor his oxygen starved lungs greedily and painfully sucking in air in an attempt to replace what had been taken from them. He curled into a ball and wrapped his arms around his head trying to shield it from the sudden whirlwind of debris that had started to fly around the interior of the old ramshackle home.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled as a timeworn stepping stool hit him in the back. He was really getting tired of being knocked around and he wondered what was taking his boys so long.

He crawled behind an overturned table and searched for his shotgun. He was down to his last two salt shells but he was hoping that they would buy him enough time to get free of the lean-to, hopefully in one piece.

The table flew off to one side leaving him exposed to the specter in front of him. She glided towards him, her yes full of a rage and an insanity that he knew she had possessed in life and that had only been nurtured in her death.

His hands fumbled as he feebly looked for his shotgun. He felt her icy hands wrap around his throat and he thought this can't be how it ends. He can't die here leaving his two boys without their father.

"Come on boys burn this bitch's bone before she does me in," he whispered as he felt his eyes grow heavy and start to close. A loud shriek and a burst of warm air alerted him to the fact that his sons had succeeded in burning her bones sending her restless spirit to its much deserved reward.

He laid on the dust covered floor his body protesting its mistreatment and he didn't move until he heard his boys running towards the house calling for him. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and waited for them.

Sam, his youngest was the first through the front door, his eyes frantically searching the structure for his father. When he spotted him sitting on the fair side of the main living area he ran to him and dropped to his knees. He took in a deep breath and tentatively reached out to touch his father's battered face.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he says hoping to alleviate some of the concern he saw brewing in the youngsters eyes.

"Always the tough guy," his son quips back, "Let's get you outta here old man. Think you can stand and walk?"

"I think I can manage. And, who ya calling old," he teases back before he gets serious again. A strong sense of concern laced his next words, "Hey, where's your brother?"

Sam turned worried eyes towards the entrance and shoots to his feet. "He was right behind me," he answers the worry he felt weighing down his words; "He should have been here by now."

The father pushes himself to his feet the sudden need to find his oldest kicking his adrenaline into overdrive, giving his the strength and energy needed. He feels his youngest step up beside him and doesn't refuse when he drapes his arm over his shoulder offering his father a little support.

Together they hobble out of the cabin and the sight that greets them sends them both crashing to their knees. His oldest is hanging loosely from a poorly tied hangman's noose his fingers frantically pulling on the rope trying to free him from its hold.

"Dean," the father calls out as he runs towards his boy.

A cold blast of air knocks him flat on his back and a spectral voice whispers, "He's mine. You need to pay for your trespasses, I won't be denied."

"Dammit, Sam, I thought you torched her," the distraught man yelled at his youngest.

"We did dad. She should be gone. What's going on," Sam questions as he helps his dad to his feet.

"Are you sure? Are you sure you got everything," he waited for his sons affirmation, "Well then there must be something of hers in that old shack that prevented the burning from taking hold. Ok, here's what we're gonna do. Sam," he barks at youngest drawing his attention back to him and away from his brother, "I'm gonna distract her. You need to burn the cabin. Can you do that? Sam, I need you to salt and burn the cabin."

"What about Dean," Sam asks.

"Sam, he'll be alright. Look, he's managing to keep the noose from drawing tight. But, I don't know how long he'll be able to. We need to get rid of this spirit if we're gonna help him. I think there's something in that house that's keeping her spirit here. Sam, you understand. We won't be able to help your brother until she's gone. I'll distract her while you take the salt and kerosene inside and cover the house in it. You've gotta hurry son. I'm not sure how much longer your brother can hold out."

Sam nodded, grabbed the supplies bag and ran towards the house. The father turned his attention to his task and sent a quick prayer up to whomever may be listening that he and boys make it out in one piece.

Sam sprinted through the front door, pulled the salt tin from the duffel he had dropped near his feet and ran from room to room leaving a trail of salt in his wake. He pulled the kerosene tin from the same duffle and splattered it all over the main living area. He stepped back out through the door, lit a match and tossed it onto the flammable liquid. A soft swoosh followed by a loud crack soon lent to a full on flame and the structure become engulfed by a red and orange flames.

"NOOOOOO," the wraiths voice cut through the meadow. She flickered into view then just as quickly she flickered out.

"Dad," his son's strangled voice drew his attention towards him, "a little help please."

"Dean," the man said as he ran to his eldest side, "Hold on boy. I gotchya." He supported his body while Sam climbed the tree to cut the noose loose.

Once free from his restraint Dean looked at the two men who had saved his life and he smirked. "Took you long enough," he jibed.

"Jerk," Sam teased.

"Bitch," Dean shot back.

"Alright, enough you two," their dad said, "whatcha say we pack up and get outta here?"

Later that night…

"You know it really is kind of tragic. I mean, when she was younger she found her father murdered, for no reason other than he had fought on the wrong side during the civil war. Then as she grew up she watched as her family was picked off one by one. It drove her to insanity.

Her life had become consumed by the need for revenge. Every waking hour was spent thinking about it while her dreams were filled with its visions. She had found herself stuck in the middle of a blood feud without having done anything or asking for it."

"Yeah, well it's over. Been long over and we had nothing to do with it," Dean said as he rubbed his bruised neck.

"Yeah, well that might be true, but c'mon Dean," Sam huffed out, "after ninety years of death her burial site and family home were being disturbed by contractors looking to make a spectacle out of her families tragedy. That's what stirred her need for revenge this time. Did you really expect her to sit idly by while we helped them to destroy her and her home?

C'mon on man. Think about her story. Doesn't it remind you of something? Huh? Really. C'mon. What about us?

Think about it. Our mother was killed for no reason other than the fact that she fought on the wrong side of evil, she tried to save me. Our father has become consumed by revenge and we are being driven into a life we didn't ask for. We have watched those we love picked off one by one. I'm afraid that one day I might end up like  
her.

We are trapped in our own version of the Hatfields and McCoys. The yellowed eye demon is Devil Anse and dad is Ole Ranle. I need to get out Dean before I end up like Nancy."

"Sam, sometimes I swear you think too much. You aren't anything like her. We aren't anything like them. We're not fighting just for pride or revenge; we're fighting to protect the innocents out there who don't know the truth about what really goes bump in the night. We don't just kill to kill.

Get some sleep Sam. Dad says were heading out early."

"Yeah, sure. Good night Dean."

"Good night, Sam."

Their dad sat outside the open window of the motel room listening in on his son's conversation. He swallowed the lump that formed his throat. His youngest was right. This wasn't just a war against evil they were fighting, it was a feud; it was personal.

A shudder went down his spine as he began to wonder if his boy wasn't onto something. Nancy had been twisted by all the anger, hate and death she had be surrounded by. Was it possible that his boys could become just as twisted?

He shook his head. He couldn't worry about that. He had to keep his boys close, in the fight, if he was going to prepare them for what was coming.


End file.
